"Good heavens, that's a person," said Fingers. It was difficult to tell if she was putting it on. "What [i]is [/i]she doing down there, Ti -" she paused, like a figure-skater on a frozen sewage outflow. "- taaaanomachia. Would you prefer I called you Titanomachia, darling?"

"Well, yeah, more than -" started Machia.

"Why darling!" she cried. "Why did you never tell me beforehand?"

"You never -"

"Gracious, all this time," Fingers bulldozed through, coiling one of her ringlets around one finger as she walked over to look down at Madeleine's back. "I presume, then, that this is your plus-one? Miss Madeline, was it?"

"Madeleine. And more like I'm hers," said Machia. "I've been working on -"

"[i]Her[/i]?" said Fingers. "And not yourself? Should I be revising certain estimates downwards?"

"I am in between mobility options," said the legless Titanomachia.

"Just as well!" said Fingers, leaning down to examine Madeline's shoulders and neck. Coils of hair brushed against her skin. "My purpose here is not to talk about what may or may not happen in the ring, but instead something adjacent to it. The price for you rejoining the arena is that you must wear a cybermask until such a time as we feel it is narratively dramatic to reveal your hidden identity. It's not often we get such a proven star in our little corner of the world and we want to [i]milk [/i]it for all its worth, don't we Titties?" She raised her head a little, smiling like grease. "Oh sorry, it's going to take me some time to get used to such a [i]big [/i]change."

Titanomacha sighed. "Fine, sure, cybermask."

"And three matches minimum," said Fingers, sing-song. "Same schedule, Friday evenings, no breaks."

"Alright."

"Wonderful! And you, darling?" said Fingers, reaching down to tap Madeleine on the nose from behind. "Three matches? No special orders, lock ins or funny business, just all the normal arena house rules. One of those is, of course, no talking - to the press, to the cameras, to anyone else who might come knocking. Can you do that~?"